Keys to A Kingdom
by Jess Idres
Summary: A one shot involving the Watch trying to figure out the riddle: What is the most precious thing in the world? Vimes, Carrot and Angua find out for one family, it's not an easy answer. Rated for subject material.


This is a little story that I dreamed one night after finishing The Fifth Elephant. It's a sad little introspective tale that toys with the heartstrings of the Watch. Originally, there was a happy second chapter as an epilogue to the story, but I think it stands better as is.

Some elements of the story are inspired by a theme in Satoshi Kon's Millennium Actress, and the episode "Escape From" of Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex. Not what you'd normally associate with the Watch, but you'll see. Nothing bizarre, I promise. Points if you can pick them out.

Discworld is copyright of PTerry, the literary genius that he is.

Keys to a Kingdom

A Discworld Story

…-…-…-…-…-…

The trouble began when Sergeant Detritus brought her in, unconscious. There had been a riot, over by Gleam Street; after the crowd had quickly dispersed having seen the light (gleaming off the six foot siege weapon that Detritus carried as a crossbow), she'd been found lying in the street, breathing but un-waking. Carefully slung in one of his stony arms, the troll had brought her to the Yard, giving her to Igor for inspection.

Commander Samuel Vimes took the steps down to the cells and Igor's lab two at a time, annoyed that his day was interrupted by some damsel who'd fainted inconveniently. Probably got a whiff of CMOT Dibbler's stand, and would wake up claiming police brutality. He scowled and rubbed his temples- he was supposed to be at the Palace in two hours for yet another meeting with the Patrician. The last thing he needed was yet another complaint form on his desk.

Knocking quickly before entering, he peeked around the door to make sure Igor's tomatoes weren't loose again- the last one had nearly bitten off his leg. The man was wonderful when it came to stitches or replacing limbs, but he could deal without swimming potatoes or singing apples. However, seeing the lab clear of any homicidal vegetables, Vimes walked in to see their mysterious lady in distress.

Igor ushered him over to the cot. "It seemth to be a thimple concussion, sir. But she still hasn't woken up- perhapth there's thome brain damage." Sergeant Angua, who sat next to the patient, held the lady's hand for a pulse. "I hope you don't mind, thir, but I thought the Sergeant could help with the more, er, delicate handling of the lady."

Vimes waved a hand dismissively at Igor. "Fine, fine. Anything that keeps me from dealing with another angry mob, I don't care. Any idea who she is, Sergeant?" Whoever she was, she didn't seem that old, although dark circles under her eyes told of someone who hadn't slept well for a while. Black hair was pulled back in thick ornate bun, with a few escaped locks curled into ringlets, framing her face. The high collar gray dress spoke of a well off household, but the lack of jewelry gave no hint of family or identification.

Angua shook her head. "She's not carrying any identification, sir, but she's dressed a little too nicely to be a seamstress. She smells of books and a decent house, but what noble would be out on her own near Gleam Street? And then there's this." The sergeant picked up an object from the small folding table beside her.

It was a key. A rather large one, of brass, or even gold, with its handle made of curving tendrils that wove into a fine knotted design at the top. Pale blue stones, possibly opals, were nestled into the spaces. The grooves themselves were rather simple, like one might have seen in their grandfather's knick-knack drawer. It dangled from a chain that had no doubt hung around the woman's neck. "It's definitely not a house key, sir. Perhaps to a chest, or some sort of symbol?"

"Damned if I know, probably some sort of family heirloom-"

Vimes was cut off by a small moan from the patient. A hand shakily went up to her face. "E-excuse me, but can someone put out that cigar? It's stinging my nostrils." Her voice was quiet and shaky, as if she was afraid that anything louder would cause an avalanche in the vicinity. Vimes grumbled a little, but smudged the stump of cigar out on the floor. Perhaps she had a hangover? No, this one didn't have any of the signs; and Vimes knew them all. Her eyes fluttered open a bit, and with a help hand from Angua, managed to sit up and look around. "Where am I?"

"Forensics department of the City Watch, ma'am. You were found unconscious on Gleam Street, miss...?" He prompted.

Confused eyes blinked slowly at him. They were a pale violet color that either nobles found exotic and wrote into stupid poems about beauty, or rural townsfolk found unnatural and left to the elements on a mountainside. "I…I don't know, I can't…" She looked down at the wool blanket, horrified, one hand grasping at her dress top for something that wasn't there.

Igor shook his head knowingly. "Amnesia, thir. It's probably only temporary, but you never can tell."

Angua held out the key to the woman. "Here, is this what you were looking for?"

Her features brightened to a soft awe at the sight of the key. "Thank you. I was wondering where that went." She grasped the key reverently with both hands, stroking the design softly like an old friend.

Vimes watched this with interest. "Can you remember anything? Like say, what that key is for?"

The woman's eyes unfocused, trailing the outline of the ornament with her index. She seemed very far away as she whispered. "It's the key to the most precious thing in the world." She blinked, refocused, and then looked back up at Vimes. "That's all I can remember. I'm sorry to be like this."

"Damn." Vimes gritted his teeth. It was hard to argue it was someone's fault, particularly when they were already apologizing before you could even begin to chastise. "It could be worse, I guess. Sergeant, keep talking to her until your shift starts, if you don't mind. See if you can't coax more out of her."

And with that, he strode through the lab door, trying to figure out what the most precious thing in the world _was_.

…-…-…-…-…-…

An hour later, Vimes was sitting at his desk, glaring at a relatively innocent piece of the doorframe, still thinking about what their mysterious lady had said. It was so easy to dismiss it as some treasure, but the way her hand had touched the key…he'd seen Sybil stroke their little boy like that. But what did it all mean? He groaned and let his head fall in his hands.

"Sir?"

One eye looked up from his hands to note the very large Captain at the door of his office. "Come in, Carrot. Sit down"

Captain Carrot dutifully walked to his commander's desk, adding to the newest pile of paperwork, and then took his seat on a spare stool. It was almost comical; the largeness of the man versus the rather pathetic seat, but Vimes had long since learned to ignore how most things looked rather pathetic next to Carrot. "Anything new I should include with my report to Lord Vetinari, Captain?"

"Not really sir, just that we still are having problems with some of the remains of that magical leakage over by the University's wall."

"Oh?"

"Constable Campbell got turned into a newt, sir."

"Good Gods! Is he alright?"

"Oh, yes. He got much better. He's expected to make a full recovery once they get him off flies, sir."

"Oh. Well then, I guess that's all. I should head over to the palace now." Vimes stood up slowly, still lost in his thoughts. "Er, Captain?"

Carrot turned from the door. "Yes, sir?"

"What do you think the most precious thing in the world might be?"

"Sir?"

"We've got a woman who lost her memory downstairs in Igor's lab. The only thing she can recall is that a key she's got is to the most precious thing in the world. Any guesses?"

Carrot shook his head. "Not really, sir. I'd have thought that it might be people, sir, but you can't just lock them up. Maybe it's gold?"

A typical Carrot and dwarf answer. Ah well.

…-…-…-…-…-…

Before he left, he walked by the lab again, to see if there was any progress. Carrot was already there, talking to Angua. The young lady was propped up into a sitting position, re-stitching several of the older blankets from the crash room, humming a delicate tune to no one in particular. She didn't seem to notice when he walked into the room, though his two officers did.

Angua pulled him off to one side. "She's been fading in and out since you left, sir; Igor suggested giving her a task to help her concentrate. All I managed was that her name seems to be Sara."

Vimes grinned mirthlessly. "At least it's not Emily."

Carrot tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Perhaps you should ask the Patrician when you see him. He might know."

Vimes glared at him. "How the hell is Vetinari going to know? You're more likely to know who she is that he is!"

Carrot frowned slightly. "Well, sir, she speaks with a bit of an accent. I don't think she is originally from around here. Perhaps she's attached to one of the Embassies?"

Leave it to the Captain to catch something no one else could possibly know. "Alright, alright. Just make sure she doesn't wander out and get run over by a cart, ok?" He looked back over to the cot, noticing that the key now hung around the girl's neck, hidden by the high collar. Only the knot could be seen, resting delicately at base of the throat, in the divot of her collarbone.

Both nodded, and Vimes walked out towards the Palace, still wondering about that damn key.

…-…-…-…-…-…

The Patrician sat behind his desk, neither face nor folded hands showing the pique in his curiosity. "A young lady, you say? No, no one's come to me about anyone fitting that description, Commander. No doubt they would have gone to you first."

Vimes sighed. It had been a long shot to begin with. "What annoys me most is that key of hers. 'To the most precious thing in the world' is all she can remember."

A single immaculate eyebrow rose slightly. "Really. That's certainly an interesting twist. Perhaps it's some sort of secret weapon?"

"Who knows? Until we find out who she is, I doubt we'll find out what that is. Good day, sir." He stood up and turned to the door, humming softly to himself.

"Commander?" Vimes turned around. "Where did you hear that tune?"

Vimes blinked. "Well, actually, that lady was singing it when I left the Watch House."

The Patrician frowned slightly, before pulling out a piece of paper and quill. "It seems I may actually help identify your mysterious woman after all. That was a rather poor rendition of a brand new piece by the Myrrnatian ambassador. It's a small country a ways up the coast, known for their textiles and musicians. If he is to be believed, no one outside his home has heard it yet. Perhaps you should inquire with him?"

Vimes took the piece of paper with the address from the Patrician. 408 Moss Street wasn't very far from Gleam Street. This actually might be something worth looking into. Leave it to Vetinari to know something mysterious. "Thank you, sir."

"Do let me know how it turns out, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Good day." Vimes grinned as he was outside the Palace. He's just as curious as I am about that damned thing.

…-…-…-…-…-…

"This…does look familiar." Sara sounded uncertain as she looked up at some better house of Ankh-Morpork. Moss Street was a little unusual for an Embassy, but it was a nice enough of a neighborhood. Vimes never really had ever noticed; it was one of the quieter beats that you got to tune out the surroundings to think about other things. His feet knew the cobblestones, but his eyes had never really gotten past the street itself.

She walked forward; eyes still raised, and stumbled, only to be caught by Carrot and Angua. When Vimes had returned to the Yard, everyone had managed to hear about the 'key'. Some were speculating on the possible object to which it belonged, others to the treasure it gave access to. Some of the less tactful were clamoring to see the woman herself, and Angua had to press herself against the lab door, snarling at the curiosity seekers. So Vimes had suggested Carrot and Angua help escort the lady to her possible home; not so much for her sake, as to make sure none of the other officers followed. No one wanted to openly defy their Commander or their Captain, and Angua was the only female on duty.

Sara managed to spot the Embassy before Vimes did. "There…" She pointed to a speckled marble building, which to the casual observer looked much more like a house than a state's office. Her pace quickened slightly, but she paused at the stairs leading up, doubt clouding her features.

Vimes walked past her, dusting off his trousers before grabbing the knocker. It was the same design as the key, he noticed, before rapping three times.

"Just a second!" came from the other side of the door. The door was yanked back before Vimes really had times to recover.

Vimes wasn't sure what he was expecting out of an official ambassador, but it definitely wasn't the man who stood on the other side of the threshold. Only a few inches shorter than Carrot, he stood, harried, in a white dress shirt, black breeches and a brown vest that would look more appropriate on Vetinari's secretary than a 6 foot plus man who'd obviously spent some of his past outdoors. He was younger than Vimes, but white streaks at his sideburns spoke of Experience. The rest of his black hair was messily pulled back into pony tail, as if he'd have done it while doing three other chores. Vimes knew the feeling well.

"James!"

Sara leapt up the stairs, pushing Vimes aside and ran full force into the ambassador. He staggered back before returning the fierce hug.

"Sara! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I got lost…" Her voice faded out as the days events caught up with her. Making a small shushing noise, the ambassador gently picked her up in his arms, rocking her as she let out a small sob. Moments later, her hands relaxed from their vise-like grip on the vest, and her head relaxed against his shoulder.

The three Watchmen looked at each other awkwardly. What do you say to something like this? Finally, Vimes coughed, feeling he ought to say something, at least. "Er, we found her several hours ago, unconscious after a riot. She, er, couldn't remember anything but her name…"

The ambassador nodded lightly. "I can't thank you enough. She hasn't been well lately, but she insisted to go out this morning. When she didn't return I thought she had simply got caught up in seeing the sights. I went out to look for her, but it's a relief to know she was in good hands. But where are my manners, come in, come in!"

Hesitantly, they followed him into the Embassy. It was more of a home than any office, as Vimes had suspected. A simple drawing room, with several bookcases and a large piano taking up much of the space, lay on the other side of the door. James walked past to quiet bedroom, placing his bundle onto the king-sized bed, before turning back to the guests. "Please, if there is anything I can do to thank you…"

He felt guilty asking such a question, but Vimes had to know. "That key around her neck…"

The look of peaceful happiness drained from the ambassador's face. Vimes cringed slightly, expecting refusal.

"Ah." Was all he said, though, like a man who'd been informed that he'd just lost a promotion. He looked back at the sleeping girl before shutting the bedroom door, giving a look to Vimes that told the Commander of the Watch that those eyes had seen a lot more of the world than they cared to. Even the sardonic smile he flashed could do little to cover up the desperate pain. "Even she did lose everything, she'd remember that, wouldn't she? The key to the most precious thing in the world." He reached under his own shirt and pulled out a similar key, just as worn from idle touch as Sara's had been. Pulling it off his head, he turned to a piece of the wall next to the bedroom, unremarkable except for a brass keyhole.

There was a hushed reverence as he unlocked the door and waved a hand inside. Small magic globes cast a soft glow into the windowless room.

It was a child's room. Sybil had one decorated much like this one in the Vimes-Ramkin household for their young son, lavishing detail on every corner. The walls were hand painted with things that would interest a young boy- knights and castles and animals of all shapes and sizes, with the greatest of detail. Stuffed animals and toys were scattered around in neat piles, as if they had just been finished with. A single portrait hung at the other wall: The ambassador, without the weary look that now hung about him, standing happily over the seated figure of Sara. She was laughing at the young toddler who squirmed in her lap, more interested in playing than sitting still. Below the portrait…

Angua realized it first; she gasped and turned to bury her face in Carrot's arm. The Captain bowed his head and closed his eyes. Vimes turned to the ambassador, a look of understanding passing between them.

"It was the best thing that could have ever happened to us. We were both twenty-four when we found out she was pregnant. We were in Myrrna at the time, and we had every intention of staying right there, being a family. But three years later, plague rolled in from the Counterweight Continent. Almost everyone fell victim. Some survived; but some…" His voice trailed off, unable to continue. "The most precious thing in the world…"

"A child lost." Vimes whispered, suddenly understanding how a woman could want to forget all of this, but couldn't; How a man so young could look like he'd seen the end of the world. "I'm sorry." He said, feeling helplessness at the inadequacy of the words, but unable to say anything better.

"I know."

He let his officers file out first, before turning back to the tiny casket, paying silent respect to a child he never knew. As he walked out, the corner of his eye caught the image of child hiding just out of sight, laughing at the memory of life.

…-…-…-…-…-…

That night, when he returned home, His Grace Commander Samuel Vimes soaked in the image of his wife, with their child cradled in her arms, rocking softly in a chair in the nursery. She didn't ask why he had to wipe his face on his sleeve, or about the fierce hug he gave them. She didn't need to; husbands and wives understood. He even helped read the babe a bedtime story, softly stroking the tuft of hair with calloused fingers.

In the Watch House, two figures sat on a narrow bed, holding onto each other in the peaceful way people do when the world becomes too much. A silent question of "Would you ever want to?" traveled between them, through quiet shifts and squeezes. A soft gaze filled with warm and understanding was all the answer either needed. For now.

In a quiet house on Moss Street, an abdicated king and queen spooned in their sleep, both lost in memories of Days Better Than These, and of silent hopes of tomorrow.

In an empty playroom, the ghost of a child played happily, waiting for his time, again.

The End.

For Now.


End file.
